


Being Stupid

by anemptymargin



Category: QI RPF
Genre: Other, Over 40, Queer Themes, Questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/pseuds/anemptymargin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan’s having an identity crisis and everyone thinks it must be a joke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> This was not an easy piece to write, I’ll tell you that up front. I feel a bit strange doing something this emotional in an RPF piece, but I like how it worked out. Thanks go out to [Missy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy) for doing my first read. Major beta thanks go out to, [gimmesimon](http://gimmesimon.livejournal.com) for catching all the big stuff (and a fair amount of the little stuff) and [allheadybooks](http://allheadybooks.livejournal.com) for hitting it with a fine tooth comb. There are not enough thanks to you folks.
> 
> Prompt: Any character 40+, Questioning your sexuality after over two decades of not questioning is hard—especially when no one believes you. But sometimes all it takes is one person to care enough to listen.

The message had come in the small hours of the morning; having learned the importance of separating from his phone overnight, Stephen had missed the call completely. Alan’s number – Stephen realized it would have been about midnight locally; no good could ever come from a midnight call. He had a typically full schedule of formal and informal meetings he’d gone and wedged in around an already tight filming schedule that seemed to take him from dawn to well past dusk. Already hurried to start his day, he put his voicemail on speaker and went about dressing for breakfast. As usual, nothing special – and then Alan’s tired voice poured out.

“Stephen? Must still be out of the country… you’re never asleep yet at this hour. Anyway, it’s Alan – I, uh… I think I’m having a crisis and I could really use a voice of reason. Call, please.”

Adjusting the collar of his shirt, Stephen considered the message. He did say ‘crisis,’ but he also sounded remarkably calm about the whole thing… not to mention he’d only called once in the six hour span. Curious, and assuming his friend had simply gone to sleep, he texted his response.

 _What crisis could happen on a Tuesday? Arsenal didn’t play last night._

He hadn’t expected a reply, so surely enough the mobile gave a series of happy chirps as he combed out his hair.

 _Call please. I can call you._

Before Stephen could commit to dialing, the phone rang. “So, what’s this about a crisis?” he answered on the second melodic buzz.

“You can’t just ask that, you haven’t even said ‘hello’ yet.”

“My apologies, Alan… where are my manners?” He sighed; “Good morning, how are things?”

“Bit not good.” Alan responded quietly, clearly trying to cover his upset and failing miserably.

“Is it safe to ask, or will I be harassed for failure to engage in sufficient small talk?”

“I’m sorry, it’s early… where are you?”

“Tel Aviv still, I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“Ugh, I’ve tried. Haven’t had a good sleep in days.” Alan sighed loudly.

“What is it, then?” Stephen felt his voice drop, pulled into Alan’s serious tone.

“I tried to talk to Katie, but she said I was just being daft.”

“All right.”

  
“Bill laughed at me, can you believe it? My best mate thinks I’m fucking joking…”

“If I may interject, Alan, it would probably be helpful to know what you’re talking about.”

“I need your advice, not jokes.”

“Don’t ever wear a white suit,” Stephen deadpanned; “Does that work for you?”

“Forget I even called, fucking hell… I’m being serious here!” Alan sighed again and Stephen could hear the closing of a door followed by soft outdoor sounds behind his voice.

“Honestly, what are they not taking you seriously about? I can’t give you anything without knowing what the problem is.”

There was a pause; over the line, Stephen heard the telltale clink and hiss of a cigarette lighting coupled with Alan’s sharp inhalation. “Christ, I’m sorry. I thought I’d told you in the message.”

“Only that there was a problem. I wasn’t worried – you sounded well enough.” Stephen sank down on the hotel bed, closing his eyes. “Are you smoking?”

“I know… I quit ages ago. I’m just… I’m rattled about this whole thing. It’s stupid, isn’t it? You’d tell me if I was being too stupid.”

“Calm down, Alan. What’s the big crisis?”

Alan took several short drags before exhaling loudly into the mouthpiece. “You can’t laugh at me. If you do I’ll never speak to you again.”

“That’d make the show awfully dull.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Quite unfortunately.”

He paused again, as though steeling his nerves, and began. “I’m having cold feet.”

“Cold feet? About what?”

  
“What do you think? Certainly not the colour of my suits.” He groaned loudly.

“What? About getting married? I don’t think you can call cold feet on something that happened over four years ago.”

“Not just that, the whole thing. Family… what if I’ve fouled it up? What if I’m not meant for any of it?” His voice pitched upward as he spoke, punctuating rhetorical questions with quick puffs. “What if I wasn’t supposed to take this path?”

Stephen sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He would get the identity crisis phone call. Granted, it wasn’t fair that the other, closer people in his life had shrugged it off. It was a hard thing to understand, that much was certain. “You’re forty-five, Alan… working steady, happily married to Katie who puts up with you for reasons I can’t even begin to fathom, and you know how you drone on and on about little Susie. Don’t be a stupid git.”

Alan chuckled unexpectedly, ending with a sarcastic sounding note; “Oh yes, because it’s so simple to boil it all down to what I should be doing. It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be.” Stephen muttered under his breath. “What’ve you done, then?”

Alan didn’t respond for a long moment, just let out a soft sigh and took several long drags of the cigarette, ending with a short cough. “Why’d you think I’ve done something?”

“I know you,” he sighed, “you don’t question anything when it’s simple.”

“Mmm, well yeah. That’s where I get stupid.” Stephen listened carefully as he lit another cigarette. “I guess if I was going to ask anyone a stupid question you’re the expert on them.”

“Out with it.”

  
“I know you didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter, but did you ever wonder what it’d be like to go off with girls?”

“Oh god, Alan… please, don’t…”

“There’s this checker at the Tesco, and he’s always very nice and polite…” Alan continued, pointedly ignoring Stephen’s plea. “I know it’s just because he recognizes me from the telly, but he calls me Mr. Davies, can you imagine it?”

“You didn’t…”

“I, erm… I asked him to call me Alan and he did.” He let out a shallow laugh.

”Oh,” Stephen sighed. “So, you fancy him because he called you by your given name?”

“Can I finish, Stephen? I know you’re used to saying whatever you feel like, but can I have time… right now, just time?” The bitter tone was back, coupled with another hesitant drag and exhale. “Trying to tell a story.”

With another slight sigh, Stephen replied; “Yes, fine. Go on.”

“So then I saw him again at a match and he was just sort of there in team colours and I went over like you do and made small talk about football and the next thing I know we’re getting a cab to go to some pub outside Highbury. I just couldn’t get out of my head that I wanted to go with him.”

“That’s perfectly normal, Alan.”

He let out a strangled sigh.

“Right, sorry - do continue.”

“Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted.” He grumbled; “He’s got passes and you know, they’re not exactly _my_ passes but we started sort of meeting up at the end and going back to the pub and just chatting and I really got to know him as more than just some checker. He’s thirty-two, lives eight blocks from me, and has a cat called Mingus.”

“You talked about his cat.”

“Yeah! It was so... so normal, I guess.”

“So what’s the bother, then?” Stephen asked, letting the agitation show through. He had things to be getting to; he was supposed to be meeting an Emir for brunch in two hours and hadn’t even pressed his trousers. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Did I sleep with him?” Alan retorted, his voice pitching up half an octave before dipping back to a near whisper. “No... No, not quite. I mean...” He took a long drag on his cigarette, collecting his thoughts. “I’m not gay,” he said slowly, with a deliberate tone. “I’ve never been like this before, I mean... I’ve kissed men for work and maybe at parties or something stupid but it never occurred to me that this was even on my radar.”

“So you fancy him?” A stab in the dark if there ever was one; when Alan got onto a ramble it was often best to let him finish the thoughts if one had the time.

“He’s built like a ginger John Barrowman!” Alan sighed loudly, a slight laugh clipping his sentence. “He plays the cello, he can cook--”

“Ah, a prime wife.”

  
“Fucking hell, shut up Stephen.” He paused, and Stephen wondered if he’d hang up. He didn’t. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way, you know? Everyone thinks I’m joking but I’m not... I really really thought about it, you know?”

“What exactly are you on about? Did you sleep with him?”

“I wanted to.”

“Oh?”

“He invited me up to his flat and we had a few drinks and then it was just sort of out there. I put it out even, he didn’t even seem like he was fazed by it... I guess it happens all the time--older man, pretty check boy...”

“You’re rambling.”

“I’m sorting it out.”

“You came on to him, it happens.”

“Not to me, it doesn’t. I’m married for christsakes. I’ve got a baby...”

He was trying to assign morality, to make himself feel guilty for feeling. It wasn’t the first time Stephen had heard the argument, though it was nice not to be part of it. “He turned you down?”

Another slow exhale against the mouthpiece and a hitched sound crept into his voice when he responded; “No. No, he didn’t.”

“But... you didn’t...”

“I couldn’t. I can’t... I mean, that’s not me. I’m not like that person who can just sleep with someone because you’re attracted to them and they’re willing and he was lovely and I know I wanted to.”

“Katie.” Stephen responded quietly, nodding back against the bed to himself.

Alan was silent for a long time, and Stephen forced himself to wait. The only time Alan was quiet for long was right before he said something either baffling brilliant or amazingly stupid. Finally, he answered; “I wish it was.”

There was nothing really to say; it was out there hanging like a big puffy cloud of guilt and shame. Unfortunately, it was a cloud he was all too familiar with. “Alan...”

He let out a strangled, high pitched laugh; “Funny, innit? Bill thought so, and Katie too. Everyone thinks it’s some big fucking joke that I could think maybe I might not be straight. That while I’d hate myself for having an affair it didn’t stop me as fast as the thought that if I did go through with it I’d have to completely change everything about what I know about myself.”

“That’s not true, Alan... you know it isn’t.”

“But it is!” he shouted, “You don’t know what it’s like to be comfortable with your sexuality, you’ve spent your whole life fighting against the world just because you’re gay and nobody gets it.”

“You’re being stupid, Alan.”

“You’ve never been solidly in one group and then suddenly realized that everything you ever thought was wrong. Am I gay? Am I straight? I don’t know maybe I’m gonna go off with a shrubbery or Mingus the fucking cat...”

“Alan.”

  
“Maybe it’s the football; you’re always saying how homoerotic sport is...”

“Alan.” Stephen spoke loudly, shutting down the tirade. “You’re not gay. Stop it.”

“Says who? I could be, you know. Maybe it’s all been one big lie because I wanted so badly to be straight.”

“Have you considered there may be more than two options?”

“What, some sort of bisexual? Is there such a thing as someone whose life is like some sexy buffet where they can just pick and choose whatever they like? Stupid flight of fancy for young women, and men that can’t take being a poof.”

  
“Have you been drinking?” Stephen attempted to control himself as best he could. He knew it wasn’t Alan saying such ignorant things - he knew better. Stress had been known to make a fool of lesser men, himself included. “The only way you could possibly come off as more stupid and arrogant than you are right now would be to say you only married your wife because women should be pregnant and barefoot, bringing you dinner.”

“I don’t even know why I called you, I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“Do you want to know what I really think?” Stephen sighed, waiting for a response. When neither an answer nor dead air came he continued; “I think you’re being arrogant and self indulgent because you’re not good at processing things that require genuine thought and emotion. You can’t bear to question your sexuality because you’re hinged on the thought that everything has to be a certain way.”

“Well...”

Stephen forced back the interruption. “Nobody’s put a script in front of you and you can’t just turn it into a big joke because you’re scared.”

“Everyone else seems to think I’m joking about it.”

“I’m going to do something I promised I’d never do, I’m going to give you advice.”

“Oh, that’s rich...”

“Call this ginger clerk you’re smitten with and tell him you’re married. Tell him that you can’t see him again; and then tell your wife how much you love her.”

“Stephen... you don’t get it...”

“No, I understand perfectly. You want to follow this new and frightening and exciting thing, but what matters is that you already know what it will do to you if you follow through. I want you to talk to her, and tell her everything you’ve said - and when she stops laughing... and she will... ask for her to help you.”

“You’ve lost me, Stephen...”

“I can’t be there for you, if I could leave Tel Aviv right now I would... but she can do something I can’t.”

“Oh, really? What’s that?”

“Love you unconditionally for everything you are, even if it isn’t what you were.”

“And what if I’m, you know...”

Stephen sighed, “I’ll be back in three weeks. We’ll talk about it then.”

“But, what about Jeffrey? There’s a match...”

“If you really want to figure it out, you’ll stay home.”

Silence again, and then the hollow exhale as the second cigarette was finished. “I should go, Stephen... I... thank you, for talking with me.”

“I hope you listen.”

“I heard you.”

“You hear a lot of things, but they don’t always make it through your thick head.”

“Good bye, then. Three weeks, right?”

  
“Yes. If you need me...”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” The thought was in poor taste, but Stephen meant it. The last thing Alan needed to do was rush into anything... he just couldn’t get that he had to know himself before he did anything he’d regret.

“Right. Good-bye.”

The line went silent and call terminated. “I knew it.” Stephen chuckled to himself with an exasperated sigh. “Nothing but a bunch of obvious knots.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.


End file.
